


The Many Steps to Holding a Baby

by GoggledMonkey



Category: Willow (1988)
Genre: Bavmorda is not a good mother, Building a Community, F/M, I assure you this is actually a very light hearted fic, Past Child Abuse, minor non graphic mentions of amputation and tooth removal for magical purposes, obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:08:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28123611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoggledMonkey/pseuds/GoggledMonkey
Summary: "Everything will be all right once we get to Tir Asleen."Except it does take some work to get to that glittering epilogue after the final battle because ruined castles don't magically fix themselves. Also, how do you hold a baby?
Relationships: Madmartigan/Sorsha
Comments: 17
Kudos: 32
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	The Many Steps to Holding a Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tenillypo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tenillypo/gifts).



Decades into her reign of the imposing fortress of Nockmaar and years after the defeat of the witch Fin Raziel, the sorceress queen Bavmorda conceives a child under a waning hump-backed moon. From this child, a daughter, she takes blood and hair and bone and tooth and, with the dark magic such ingredients can bestow and her power of the dark arts, Bavmorda lays a thick and unnatural curse upon the glittering kingdom Tir Asleen.

This is not a secret.

Sorsha does not learn about this while eavesdropping as a plucky youth nor is it revealed to her by a mysterious wise person on her sixteenth name-day. Instead, Sorsha grows up hearing of Tir Asleen's downfall from her mother's own lips and Bavmorda, when she tells the tale, is filled with such smugness that it makes her eyes bright like fresh blood. And Sorsha knows, has always known, that the greatest boon she has ever given her mother was her body.

The best thing Sorsha's mother ever gives back is forgetting for long periods that she even has a daughter which leaves Sorsha's upbringing to a rotating cast of greybeards, a cold-hearted general and an army of soldiers. It's an upbringing that keeps her a tool, a sharp blade cold and deadly, ready to strike where her mother sees fit.

It's during an unfortunate period of being a seen, dutiful daughter, when Sorsha is called back from the front lines and living in that hated fortress, that the full words of the prophecy long haunting her mother finally come to light.

There is a prisoner, a wizard from Galladoorn, all haughty and sneering about Bavmorda's prophesized downfall who, like a fool, doesn't realize what secrets he's sharing until it's too late. Bavmorda tears all the words out of him until he can speak no more, until he can scream no more and she goes mad at the idea that a babe has been foretold as her downfall. The greybeards try to soothe Sorsha's mother but Sorsha understands as well as she the true power and terror a baby can bring about.

Sorsha is sent out to destroy a baby for her mother and has no qualms about that. In fact, for her entire life, Sorsha has had no thought to ever betray her mother; there was never any reason to not be a perfect tool, a willing sword, until very suddenly, all at once, like the sudden stop of the noose, she finds a reason.

Sorsha looks across the courtyard of a castle cursed by her own blood and bones and sees a man in glittering armor that she had sworn in the deepest dungeon of her heart that if she saw again she would destroy in an instant but as he glints in the firelight she remembers his mouth hot on hers upon a frozen mountain and thinks for the briefest moment _what if I keep him instead_?

That little thought is enough snow to bring an avalanche down upon a lifetime of obedience.

They lose the child and, this time, when Sorsha goes searching it's not for her mother at all.

Even after her betrayal, Sorsha never expected to walk out into a violent washed courtyard and hear the witch's voice ring out with the power of a thunderclap to proclaim that, "THE EVIL QUEEN BAVMORDA IS NO MORE!"

There is a stillness in the air at that. The metal clang of fighting quiets as all the men still living turn to the group of them tiny but triumphant, on the stairs. The men Galladoorn and Nockmaar alike stare because no one had truly truly believed that Bavmorda could be destroyed. Sorsha certainly had not believed.

There's a murmur through the crowd, the beginnings of a ragged cheer.

Then:"Sorsha!"

It's one of the soldiers from Nockmaar neither dead nor fled. She knows him, Kert, a lieutenant under Kael, but he's not attacking her just looking wild-eyed.

“Sorsha," he says again, "do you…you have taken the castle?"

There is a certain understanding in the world that when a queen dies one of her children becomes the next ruler. This was never meant to happen in Nockmaar because Bavmorda had never meant to die. But she has. And has Sorsha taken the castle?

Sorsha’s insides twist at the idea of being the queen of this fortress left to rot away in its depths and she shakes her head wildly.

"I will not rule over the ashes of my mother's tyranny," she points behind her where there is a baby and a Nelwyn and a handsome, if foolish, man, "I am…loyal to Tir Asleen."

Which is only true because there is a baby destined to be the queen of Tir Asleen and there is a nelwyn sorcerer charged with protecting said baby's destiny and there is a sell-sword or a mercenary or a scoundrel or a knight or all four of these things and he has pledged himself to the nelwyn and there is Sorsha who has in some fit pledged herself to him because…

Because…why?

Because he said he loved her. Because he flashed golden in the firelight. Because he stood against an army with only a baby and a peck and no chance at all and somehow kept hope enough to ride on.

All that is to say, in a very roundabout way, that by right and by duty Sorsha has also pledged herself to the infant queen of Tir Asleen.

Someone should take the castle, should claim Nockmaar, but it is a place Sorsha hates and it will not be her claiming this dark place the reeks of blood.

The baby, Elora, laughs, crystal and light, and Lieutenant Kert glances behind Sorsha, stares at the small babe that Bavmorda had died trying to destroy, and with a confused frown, sheaths his sword. All the other men who were loyal to Kael or her mother or Nockmaar follow suit.

And that is how the battle of Nockmaar ends and why, when they leave the dark fortress, they come away with not just the wounded and pilfered wagons filled from the emptied larders but also a regiment of soldiers who now seem to be content to be loyal to Sorsha and, in a roundabout way, loyal to Tir Asleen.

In a similar vein Madmartigan has inherited command of the landless Galladoorns with the death of Airk Thaughbaer. Sorsha and Madmartigan agree, without really talking about it, to try to keep the two groups of men as far apart as they can.

They have to rest awhile, to water what horses they have, before attempting the labyrinth canyons that hide Tir Asleen and Sorsha makes the rounds watching for fights or plotting or other evils. That is when she comes across the nelwyn, sprawled out on the ground, rocking the baby queen who cries and hiccups in his arms.

"Is she ill?" Perhaps illness is inevitable. Perhaps having fulfilled her magical purpose this babe would fade away into the dark realms and what will Sorsha do then?

But actually, the nelwyn doesn’t look panicked at all, only slightly startled by Sorsha’s appearance. He shakes his head, "Oh no no, she's just fussy." He gives Elora a small indulgent smile and then looks back up at Sorsha without fear, only a soft, thoughtful look, "Do daikini's grow milk teeth?"

Sorsha lets the tip of her tongue rub across her teeth for just a moment, trying not to think about the power in such things, before nodding.

"I think that might be the problem, poor little duck," He rubs his fingers across the baby's cheek gently. The crying peters out and Willow glances up at her again, "Did you need help with something?" Sorsha realizes she's been staring intently at his fingers soft on Elora's cheek and perhaps he thinks Sorsha is planning some horror upon the two of them.

"It will be another twenty minutes before we move out," she says locking her eyes on a nearby tree, hands tucked behind her back like she's reporting to a general.

"Oh. Well. Thank you for telling me Sorsha.” He eyes her curiously then nods as if he’s come to an understanding and stands up, “Since there's some time I think I should go with Fin to look at the wounded men again. Here," and he's holding the baby towards Sorsha as if offering it to her.

Sorsha stares down at him and the baby, a wave of impossible terror cutting through her, and she does not take the offered bundle.

"Those wagons are no place for a baby," Willow says as if that explains anything.

"No place you take that baby is a place for a baby," Madmartigan says gleefully, suddenly beside Sorsha, and snatchs the baby out of Willow's hands with a whoop, "Isn't that right darling?"

Willow makes a noise like one would at a misbehaving dog and glares at Madmartigan, hands on his hips. "Don't you lose her this time, Madmartigan," he orders.

"Oh, was it me who lost you last time, sweetheart? Was it? No, no, no. Who was it who lost you last time? Hmm, who was it?" Madmartigan is talking directly to the baby his voice coming out strangely high pitched, "Oh yeah! It was Willow, wasn't it?"

"What? No! That doesn't count!"

"Well, Willow, I'd say, if we were counting, and now I am, that maybe I lost her that one time but you lost her probably about six hundred times."

"I've changed my mind. The wounded wagons are fine compared to you. Give her back."

"Nuh uh, finders keepers."

"What does that even mean?" Madmartigan doesn't answer, just laughs, and Willow huffs, "You're impossible!", throwing his arms up and stomping off towards the wagon train. Madmartigan grins after him and then he turns to Sorsha and then his grin is on her and the sun must be too making her neck impossibly hot.

"You're welcome by the way," and his eyes are all laughter when he says this.

"What?"

"I saved you from this ferocious baby," his voice is light and airy and she has no idea how one responds to it. Instead, she glares.

"I am not afraid of that baby. I've held that baby many times."

He holds her out to Sorsha, "then take her."

She does not.

"I have no time for your foolishness, you fool," she snarls and stomps off in the opposite direction that Willow went. Madmartigan laughs and she realizes that in storming off she must look as silly as the nelwyn did and that he and the baby are laughing at her behind her back.

And then the sun is shining too hot on her face.

He laughs at her all the way to Tir Asleen

…

He stops laughing once they arrive at the castle.

No. Those are not the right words.

He stops laughing once they arrive at the _ruin_ of the castle.

Sorsha had tricked herself into believing the lie that her mother's death would somehow, through magic and miracles, provide a castle returned to glorious white stone and shiny parapets but when they enter the courtyard it is still a ruin littered with dead soldiers and dead creatures, and stinking of shit.

Madmartigan must have believed the same lie and he looks at the courtyard rolling his eyes upwards, "I cannot believe I fell for this scam twice!" He slides off his horse to kick at, and miss, the neck of the dead dragon.

The men are filling in behind them, men from two different armies who were fighting each other to the death not so long ago, men who seem to only be following Sorsha and Madmartigan’s orders on a whim. Sorsha can see in her mind that left to their own devices in a smoldering courtyard that one small disagreement could so easily come to deadly blows.

She wheels her mount around and keeps her eyes cold as a sword as she barks out "Men," like she expects loyalty, like she expects them to obey like they are disciplined soldiers, "half of you start digging a grave-pit and the rest of you begin moving these bodies outside the walls."

"You heard the woman," Madmartigan says loudly from beside her this time to the men from Galladoorn, who don't get a scowling sword but a charming grin, "We need to get this place cleaned up for the princess." There are cheers for that; men can be aroused to do great deeds if only for a cause like a prophesied princess.

"Well," Madmartigan looks at her eyes glinting in the sun, "I guess it's just you and me doing a little troll hunting, huh?"

There's something alluring about the way he asks the question or at least there is until an infestation of brownies (if two can be an infestation) pop over his collar, hollering in unison about hunting. Their appearance doubled with the fact that there is an actual troll infestation that needs to be taken care of and that it takes them a few hours to track down the nest and kill the brood matriarchs means she is not able to explore that allure.

Still, killing trolls with Madmartigan is exhilarating and when they clamor back out to the sunlight they find Willow, with the baby strapped to his chest, ordering Galladoorns and Nockmaar men alike in the set-up of tents, and a pot of stew and ale and no horrible deaths so that is one day over without disaster.

-

It's not until late in the night that Sorsha sneaks out of the tent she has ended up sharing with a witch, a nelwyn, two brownies, and a baby and a man who is many different things and she brings that man with her to a hidden place where she can press her mouth against that smirk in peace.

-

Dawn brings sweeter air and with it an almost hopeful attitude that they hadn't made the most foolish mistake to try living in a cursed castle. With that in mind, Sorsha sends her men out to continue clearing the castle and searching rooms, looking for any supplies that could have survived the decades of disuse.

Right after she finishes issuing her orders Madmartigan issues the same to the

They send their soldiers to work in pairs and no one grumbles, probably because the stone people that populate the castle are happy to remind everyone that this a cursed place.

Sorsha doesn't feel guilty about the people of Tir Asleen and what remain to haunt the derelict castle, but she dislikes the uneasy prickling sensation of eyes on her back only to turn and eyes forever unblinking. It's disquieting.

She doesn't remember being a pig but she does remember the feeling of turning into one: her body twisting, her hair dissolving, her fingers fusing into hooves. She remembers how it started slowly as a pain in her guts and then rolled over her body as unstoppable as a storm coming over the horizon. She can't help but wonder, as she looks into unblinking stone eyes, if being turned to stone happened the same way, slow enough to know what was happening and fast enough to be unstoppable.

She's pairs herself with Madmartigan so together they can keep an eye on the working soldiers and because, even though he laughs at her all day long, she'd rather be near him than apart. 

They plan to investigate the main well that they have yet to drink from, to see if the water is sweet or foul, and there they find Willow, with Elora tucked to his chest as always, and the witch, Fin Raziel, looking at one of the stone people, set beside the well like a guardian.

"Oh, Fin," Willow says, looking into unblinking eyes and a face one could almost make out, "is there anything we can do for these people?"

It's easy to wonder if Sorsha walking into the conversation was somehow foretold because the witch, instead of meeting the nelwyn's distraught eyes, tilts her head to look directly into Sorsha's and says, "Perhaps."

"Oh well, don't be too mysterious about it or anything," Madmartigan mutters but Sorsha can't turn to look at him trapped in Fin Raziel’s stare.

"Do you know what foulness Bavmorda used to curse this place, girl?"

The way Fin Raziel asks the question implies she already knows the answer and that startles Sorsha enough that the "yes" slips right out of her lips.

"Really?" Willow also sounds startled and perhaps suspicious.

"Well, out with it," Fin Raziel orders.

It is a story Sorsha has always known, the fate of Tir Asleen. It is not a secret, yet she struggles to say anything. She doesn't know know. She doesn't know magic or how it truly works; she cannot perform spells. Magic is a thing her mother would never let her near because magic is the only thing Bavmorda had ever feared, the only weapon that could hurt her.

There are hardly any marks on Sorsha’s body from the ritual, only a faded white scar on her arm and the lack of a small toe on one foot, and she cannot even remember for she had been too young, yet her heart thuds in her chest and fear rising up in her gullet as she thinks of the smugness in her mother's eyes when she told the tale of Tir Asleen.

"Sorsha?" Madmartigan asks in a soft voice. Sorsha ignores him and grits her teeth.

"She said…that there was power in her blood and she needed to access it but she could not use her own blood for a curse but it still needed to be her blood…"

"And so she had a child," Fin Raziel nods with understanding, "Of course she would do that." And there is in her eyes a terrifying smugness.

"Yes." At a touch, Sorsha glances down to see that Madmartigan has grabbed her hand so it lies cradled between his own. "She said that she used my hair and blood and tooth and bone." She recites the list steadily and does not clutch back at his hands.

"She took those things from you?!" Willow asks, aghast.

Sorsha doesn't want to look at him or his eyes so she examines the stone woman instead and nods like she's greeting her, not answering Willow's question.

"But…but," he sputters, "but you were just a baby!"

"Uh, Willow," Madmartigan says, his voice light but the grip on her hand is firm as though she's in danger of falling, "did you forget what we had to stop Bavmorda from doing to that baby?"

"But Elora Danan wasn't hers! Sorsha was hers! How could you hurt your baby like that?" Willow’s clutching Elora tight to his chest looking all the world like he may never put her down even when she grows into an adult daikini that towers over him.

Sorsha doesn't like thinking of herself as a baby on an altar in a ceremony room wailing as Elora Danan had, doesn't like the wet glint in Willow's eyes, doesn't like the pinched frown on Madmartigan's lips and she certainly doesn't like Fin Raziel knowing eyes. So, she keeps her eyes on the stone woman. She can just make out brown curls and a blue skirt.

"Will you need these things again, to undo this curse?" Sorsha asks, her voice cold and unaffected. She'd prefer to not lose any teeth. She runs her tongue over them trying to think which she'd give up if necessary but then maybe the blood needed now is an exponential killing amount of blood and Sorsha is being very naive to worry about losing her teeth. A witch that cackled so gleefully while battling her mother to death certainly would not hesitate to take a dagger to Sorsha's flesh.

Fin Raziel’s response is haughty, "Do we need hair and tooth and bone? Of course not! Not when there's blood. Bavmorda's curse was foolishly excessive. So many unnecessary components when you already have blood."

"Oh yeah, sure," Madmartigan mutters, "obviously everyone knows that."

He is ignored.

"Give me your hand," the Fin Raziel orders.

"Are you going to bite her?" Willow asks, concerned like this is a reasonable outcome, but Sorsha is already extending her hand, the one not tangled up with Madmartigan's. Being bit can't be much worse than the dagger that she expects.

The old woman just holds Sorsha's hand skin, surprisingly gentle on Sorsha's palm and peers into Sorsha's eyes. What she finds must satisfy her because she nods and reaches into the pocket of her robe. Sorsha tenses but what Fin Raziel pulls out is not a knife but a small thorn, only slightly longer then a roses’, that she presses into the pad of Sorsha's pointer finger.

"Let us begin," Fin Raziel says pressing Sorsha’s hand flat against the stone woman splaying her fingers out. "Pardou cante dormanste foon, Willow say these words with me!"

They chant but nothing happens except that Sorsha's finger aches where the thorn had pricked her.

Then, suddenly, there is a wind and a feeling against her palm. It could maybe be likened to ice melting to water but not quite or maybe the way old stone could crumble to dust but that is not true either. Perhaps it is clearer to say it felt the way a cursed stone warms and softens and shifts beneath your hand until it is no longer stone but a young woman, with curly brown hair and a heartbeat beneath your hand, gasping in confusion.

The woman sways, her legs collapsing under her like a young deer, and Sorsha grabs her so she doesn’t crush Willow and the baby. The woman grabs back, fingers pressing deep into Sorsha's arms.

"What? What?" is all she can gasp out, eyes bright and wide, and Sorsha has no idea how to help.

Luckily, Madmartigan takes the woman from Sorsha's arms, crooning, "Hey hey hey, it's gonna be fine. You're alright." It's unclear whether he's talking to Sorsha or the woman, but he locks eyes with Sorsha and smiles, "You're alright."

There are more stone people. So many. A castle’s worth. It takes hours and many more thorn pricks to undo Bavmorda’s curse so long that it goes from day to night to pink day again. Sixty-three people are awakened from stone that day and Sorsha knows she will go to the grave remembering every face.

-

It's harder to sneak off with Madmartigan when the camp is so full of new people but they still do. Sorsha lets him take off her boot so he can see her missing toe, lets him run a rough finger ever so softly over the sole of her barefoot and then she bends and lets him kiss her until there is a smile back in his eyes.

-

Things are different in the castle afterward not just because its full of new people but because these people are not soldiers (the soldiers of Tir Asleen had long long ago ridden off to battle) and they were not royalty (Tir Asleen’s last royal remnants having been Elora's mother sobbing in a filthy cell). They are common folk.

All the common folk Sorsha has ever seen were hollow and terrified but the people of Tir Asleen are not. Though awakening from stone had been met with tears and hysterics they quickly settle to people mourning a lost kingdom and fiercely determined to bring a likeness of it back.

And they could do it too because these people were builders, farmers, hunters, cooks, and tailors. They swarmed over the castle and its ground as ferocious as a hive of honeybees.

They were lighter in spirit than Sorsha's grim men or the last broken men of castle Galladoorn. They were more like Madmartigan, whose eyes always dance with laughter, but even he is still sharp like a dagger and these people…

It's not that they were dull or dumb, like fat little chickens in a coop. They were not. But they hold a brightness in them that Sorsha has never seen. They laugh. They sing. And they have children in their numbers, real children not like the baby queen or the green soldiers Sorsha never cared to learn the names of who trembled when Kael walked by. No, these are real children who laugh and run and play!

A trio of such children rush by Sorsha giggling wildly and she can only look after them bemused.

"M'lady! M'lord!" a voice calls out. That is another change. Sorsha has never had a title in her life; she has only ever been 'Sorsha' even while commanding her mother's armies. But the people of Tir Asleen like titles and Sorsha has become M'lady. Even her own men had started calling her "Sor-my lady".

Madmartigan had become M'lord something Willow had chortled at until the man addressing Madmartigan turned to the nelwyn with a matching bow and repeated "M'lord." Then it was Madmartigan laughing as Willow turned red.

Today the curtsies belong to Pim, the woman with curly brown hair that had been the first to be freed from stone. She had been, once long ago, a handmaiden to a queen and had decided with no input from Sorsha that she was now Sorsha’s handmaiden. Pim always beamed at Sorsha like it were pleasure to call her “M’lady.”

Pim's arms are wrapped around a bolt of light white fabric which she presents to Sorsha, her face alight in joy, "One of the soldiers found this packed away, M'lady! Look how fine it still is! Untouched by any vermin! And clean!"

Sorsha hums, not sure what the fabric would be good for since it's far too thin for wall hangings. What else were they in need of? Bandages perhaps?

Before she can ask, Pim says, "I can make you the loveliest gown from this."

"Why would I need that?" Sorsha regrets her bluntness only because Pim's face crumples.

"Would it be so awful to dress up for things?" Madmartigan asks and Sorsha frowns at him because she knows he’s laughing at her.

"What things? I'm going hunting today to help fill the stores. That does not need a dress."

"There are other things! Not hunting. Of course, not hunting!" At her look, he shakes his head "Court duties. Court stuff. You know, court…stuff."

"I have no idea what you mean. My mother did not have a court. I have never been to a court. What court things?"

He flings his hands into the air, "You know!"

He is being useless so Sorsha turns to Pim and asks, "Court things?" Pim tilts her head and eyes Sorsha before nodding and giving what could be described as an encouraging smile.

"Yes, M’lady it would be lovely to see you dressed for court or maybe another special occasion." Her eyes flick to Madmartigan, "Perhaps a gown for a wedding?"

Madmartigan doubles over in a coughing fit having somehow choked on nothing and Sorsha pounds him helpfully on the back. He dances back and looks up at the castle pretending he isn't red in the face from coughing.

"I know court stuff enough to know that people expect the ones in charge to look fancy," he says as though nothing happened.

"In charge? Elora is in charge."

"Oh of course." He smirks at her fully recovered from his coughing fit and her eyes narrow, "Shall I ask the good queen of Tir Asleen to treat with visiting dignitaries that will definitely start arriving with the spring?" He bends his arms around an invisible baby and asks in his foolish talking-to-Elora voice, "Should we sign a treaty? Should we open trade routes? Hmm? Goo goo gaa gaa you say my majesty?"

His arms are cradling an imaginary baby and Pim is cradling the bolt of white fabric and still both of them look at Sorsha like she's being foolish.

Sorsha glares at Madmartigan, "I have other duties."

"Court duties!" he calls after her with a laugh. She ignores him.

Pim is harder to ignore. She is relentless, a dread dog baying at the scent of blood but, instead of tearing Sorsha into pieces, she sighs softly and corners Sorsha at dinner to tell her stories of her past duties as a handmaiden and the beautiful dresses she once made with a forlorn look on her face.

This forlorn look is how Sorsha ends up in her tent draped in white fabric and standing before a tall propped up silver mirror spotted with age. The mirror, Pim explains as she pins fabric eyes shining with joy, was from the royal suites, that "Soon we'll have sorted out so you and his lordship and our sweet queen have a proper place to rest your heads."

The tent they've been sleeping in is more than adequate but Pim just shakes her head sadly when Sorsha says as much so Sorsha decides she will endure the dress making quietly.

She is doing this, arms out awkwardly like a scarecrow, when Madmartigan burst into the tent Willow and Elora trotting behind him.

"Sorsha!" Madmartigan yells her name the loud surprised way he does, "we were looking for you-" He sees her and barks out a laugh, "Pim finally captured you huh? Captured by a ferocious handmaiden."

His laugh turns to a yelp as Willow jabs him in the thighs.

"I think you look very beautiful Sorsha," Willow says sweetly, ignoring Madmaritan's cursing.

"I didn't say she didn't! Of course, she does!"

"M'lords!" Pim says, tugging the fabric up to fully cover Sorsha's chest, "It is very inappropriate for you to be here!"

"Why?" Sorsha asks, because they both sleep in this tent, at the same time Willow's eyes go wide and he says, "Oh right. Sorry!" and pops back out taking Elora with him.

Madmartigan doesn't leave, just crosses his arms and says sulkily, "I think so too, you know. That you look beautiful."

He’s told her she’s beautiful once dressed in armor, once in a nightdress, and once covered in troll guts so Sorsha really doesn’t trust his opinion. But she gets an idea when she looks into his laughing eyes and says carefully and steady, “You did tell me I needed it, did you not? For court.”

He beams, proudly. "Yes, I did. For official things."

“This is an issue of duty?”

“Right! It’s very important to look right for these things,”

“Good.” Sorsha nods, like they have come to an agreement, “And once she is done with this gown, you will let Pim make you a court outfit next.”

“What?” He squawks having stepped right into her trap. “No. I’m fine!” He waves his hand at his golden armor that he loves so much.

“But you said one cannot wear armor for court things so you must have a new outfit, must you not?”

There's a soft sound and when they look over they can see it is Pim, eyes crinkled, laughing quietly into her hands. When she sees their eyes on her, she places a very serious look on her face and nods, "Yes, of course M'lady. I will make him such a lovely outfit for court…” She looks sly, “or a wedding."

Madmatigan sputters then gestures towards the tent flap, "I don't have time for…I was doing something just now…and so I'm going."

Sorsha laughs at him as he stomps out of the tent.

-

Tir Asleen has been coming along so well is such a short time that when Sorsha comes across Willow one morning in the small side courtyard with the trees, hedges and little stone benches that had no real use, bent over Elora weeping Sorsha's guts lurch. This is it. The disaster she has been braced for.

"Willow," she is by his side in a deer leap raking her eyes over him and Elora, "what's wrong?"

He looks up at her with a smile despite his tears and says plainly, like a pleasant conversation, "I was talking with Roan today, you know him, the farmer who I've been working with."

"Yes," she agrees when he doesn’t say more, "the one you made the magic seeds for." The castle needed late summer crops planted for an early winter harvest because even with the promised mild winters Tir Asleen had no grain coming and many mouths to feed so Fin Raziel and Willow had sent the children out to fill bags with the fluff of dandelions and other blowing flowers and together they had turned them into different seeds: leafy greens and radishes. He'd been so pleased with his magic seeds, chuckling and grinning sly whenever he brought them up. Even now, eyes wet and full of sorrow, his lips quirk upward at the words.

"Yes, with the magic seeds. And he knows the weather and even though the first frost is months away he says if one needed to travel over the mountains, they would have to leave in the next few days to avoid the snow."

He's looking towards the mountain even though there's no way he can see over the stone walls around them; Sorsha, if she cranes her neck, can just see the permanently white dusted peak.

"My village is on the other side of that mountain," he says staring at a mountain he cannot even see. And she still doesn't understand until she does and the idea that he is leaving lands like the breathless pain of a blow to the stomach.

"You could stay," she says hopefully because who would care for Elora if he left?

He shakes his head. "I can't. I can't. I miss Kaiya and the bobbins so much. I've been gone for so long."

His tears are back, looking down at Elora and soon the baby will take his emotions in and probably start crying herself. Sorsha wishes very much that Madmartigan was here in this moment instead of her because Madmartigan is good with people and she is not.

"If you must leave, you must. But you will return." She does not say it as a question because it is very much an order.

"Tir Asleen is in desperate need of a nelwyn farmer, is it?"

"A nelwyn sorcerer," She corrects. "And you will return for Elora. You love her." It's a statement, not a question.

"I do." He stares down at Elora as though she is the most precious gem in the world, "I wish…I wish I could have kept her in my farmhouse. Ranon and Mims would have taken her to play in the woods, and I would worry myself sick about the three of them falling into the river, and Kiya would teach herself how to make giant clothes suitable for a daikini. But there isn't room for a daikini child there let alone for you and Madmartiagn and Fin. And Elora is a princess. She’s a queen. She needs to be here with her people but I need to be there with my family."

He finishes his speech bowed over Elora, tears sliding down his face. Carefully Sorsha rests a hand on his shoulder, gentle like his hands on Elora’s cheek, "If it's your wish your entire family, anyone from your village, any nelwyn at all, may come and live here. We have room."

He looks up at that, "Was that a size joke?"

"…no?"

He laughs and smiles at her, "That was a joke Sorsha." He pats fondly on the knee and wipes at his eyes, "You'll need to learn to recognize them if I'm to leave you alone with that ruffian Madmartigan."

"Have you told him yet?" She asks, though she knows he can't have because when last she'd seen Madmartigan he'd grinned and winked at her.

"No," he sighs "but I will go now."

And then he smiles, the wicked way Madmartigan does, and holds Elora out for Sorsha, "Here. You can watch her while I do."

Sorsha does not take the baby.

"If I'm leaving you will have to hold her sometimes you know. You didn't seem to have a problem when you were kidnaping her before."

"That's different." Sorsha’s not sure how to explain that Elora wasn't a baby then when she stole her from Willow's arms but now she very much is a tiny real person. People are very fragile.

"If Madmartigan can hold Elora without hurting her I'm sure you will do fine." But Madmartigan had, beneath his calluses, very gentle hands and Sorsha has never thought of herself as gentle. Willow doesn't seem at all sympathetic though and just orders, "sit down you great big idiot so I can reach you. And hold your arms out."

Sorsha does, on one of the useless benches feeling foolish as she stiffly holds her arms out.

"Daikinis are ridiculous," he says in a way that seems to mean _you, Sorsha, are ridiculous_. He’s able to hold Elora with one hand whilst folding Sorsha's arms until he's satisfied and with a blunt, "There." he plops the baby into Sorsha's arms.

Elora looks up at Sorsha and smiles. She's so small, a person in perfect miniature, and Sorsha has no idea how anyone could hurt a baby and all at once she knows she would kill anyone who dared try.

"Oh."

"See? Is that so bad? She loves you."

Sorsha only doesn't drop Elora because she is frozen in place with something that feels like fear running through her veins, an ancient and rudimental fear like wolves circling your tent in the dark.

"But she doesn't even know me," she says in a small voice.

"She's a baby. All they can do is love," Willow says with serious earnest. Elora babbles looking up at them and waving her hands.

"Ah," Sorsha says, just this in a low breath out. No one had ever told Sorsha they loved her except once in mad frenzied poetry on atop a frozen mountain (and it went away) so she has no idea how to respond.

Willow reaches out and lets Elora wrap her hand around his fingers.

"Will you look after her when I'm gone?” he asks staring down at the baby, "It's just. I love her."

"Willow," Sorsha thinks about her roundabout fealty to Elora and leans towards him solemnly, "Yes. I swear. I will protect her."

"Thank you. And you'll watch out for Madmartigan too? It's just…he's kind of an idiot."

Sorsha laughs, a full-body sound, and Elora shifts with her movements sturdy and bracketed in Sorsha's arms, cooing in delight, "I will also protect him."

One day Sorsha will discover that, if she’s careful, sha can hold Elora with one arm pressing her firmly to her chest, so she has a free hand. But that is in the future so Sorsha simply bows her head to bind her vow.

-

Sorsha’s holding Elora two days later when Willow leaves Tir Asleen, waved onward by all the people of Tir Asleen, both those who were once stone and the men who were ince of Galladoorn or Nockmaar. Sorsha, in the white dress Pim made, holds Elora and tries very hard to look like a person one would trust a baby with. As soon as Willow’s disappeared down the road, Sorsha and Madmartigan, through silent agreement, head to the newly restored royal chambers to put their armor back on. There is still work to be done and they best not to ruin their new finery.

The room is certainly finer than the tent they'd shared but the stone keeps in the chill so the bed must be piled deep with furs and that's where Sorsha places Elora, nestled in middle of the furs to prevent falling. There is a crib filled with knit blankets and furs but Sorsha likes her out in the open easy to see in case of emergency.

Though they are both used to putting their armor on by themselves, Sorsha reaches over to unpick a tricky knot in Madmartigan’s tunic ties before taking off her gown. It’s when she’s pulling it up over her head that she hears a whimper from Elora, the hint before crying but Sorsha is too besieged by soft white fabric to do anything and Madmartigan gets to Elora first.

He leans over the bed the comfort of his hand spread across the whole of Elora’s chest. "I know I know," he says in the special voice that he uses just for Elora, "I miss him too Sticks. Gods," his next breath comes out just a hair panicked as he glances over at Sorsha, "I didn't realize how much Willow holds her. All-day long he held her. And talked to her. Every minute of the day!”

She feels just the prickling of unease, “Do you think that she needs that? Do you think that she will grow lonely or sick without it?”

Madmartigan looks at her in horror, "Well now I do!" He hesitates, “You know…Willow can't have gotten that far. Not on a pony."

Sorsha considers that, "He is small and slow. We could catch up easily."

"No. Well yes, we could. But we can’t do that. Right?"

Sorsha pulls her hauberk over her head and lets the familiar weight comfort her. To Madmartigan she gives a cold, blank look and says, "I rode him down and captured him before; I can do it again."

He stares at her before throwing his head back to laugh. “You beautiful crazy mad-woman you.” Then he frowns. “That was a joke, right? Wait…you don’t tell jokes! We’re not really doing that, right?”

She has no idea what words to use; words are not her preferred tools and her jokes are clearly not good but a sword will not suit here. So instead, she steps close to him, chest to chest, and runs a hand through his hair as gentle as she can manage. It's not that gentle but still he relaxes resting his forehead against hers and mumbles, "This is stupid. We are warriors. I am the greatest swordsman who’s ever lived, and you are also pretty good and we will be just fine. Right?”

Sorsha kisses him again until his lips curl up to smile. “It will be fine,” she agrees, “We’re alright.” From the bed Elora coos and baby babbles and Sorsha reaches down carefully pulling Elora up into her arms bending them to cradle her between them. It feels does feel alright. 


End file.
